


the juxtaposition of good and bad

by endru



Series: it's all i know and i can hardly speak [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash, Selectively Mute Crowley, gratuitous use of footnotes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endru/pseuds/endru
Summary: a woman who doesn't know any better, a snake that absolutely does, and a damned delicious apple walk into a garden.or, rather, walk out of it.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: it's all i know and i can hardly speak [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700566
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	the juxtaposition of good and bad

**Author's Note:**

> aka the first meeting, retold in the selectively mute crowley universe.
> 
> this won't really make sense if you haven't read the first story in the series!
> 
> (this is a re-post, the original has been deleted)

This is, as it were, the beginning.

They say, first there was Her. First there was Her, and seven days later, she made humanity. This is misguided for several reasons. By all accounts, to say _She_ created is a little too generous. She mostly delegated[[1]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftn1). It is also wrong to say that any such thing came _first_. The only reason no one corrects her is because no one would be quite sure how to[[2]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftn2).

Instead, there was God and there were angels and angels and more angels and there was the fall and there was Hell and there was the universe and there was Eden[[3]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftn3).

Now, there was Adam, and Eve, and a serpent, and one very anxious angel[[4]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftn4).

And it was all going exactly as planned. Hopefully.

It must be, right?

Ineffable, wasn’t it?

//

Crawly spent most of his time in the earliest days as a snake. He’s not quite sure where the ability came from – he couldn’t reasonably connect it back to any of his time Above, nor was it one of those awful half-baked monstrosities so many of the other demons maintained in hell. It just kind of happened, he supposes. There was the tearing of space beneath him, the momentary rush of air passing and then burning, burning, burning. Somewhere, in the pain that followed, the recently fallen angel had hoped so deeply and so desperately for some sort of peace, and then, he just _was_. It wasn’t exactly _peace_ , not in the way he’d hoped for, but it was better. Easier.

Crawly, now, allowed them to believe him stuck in this wretched form. Let them sneer and give him the stupid fucking name. A special curse, they said, for the special son[[5]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftn5). _Not so special now, are you?_ He wasn’t sure if they said it or if he thought it. He didn’t mind, though. The jeering or the new body. It didn’t take him too long after the first time to realize he could shift back and forth at will – quite smoothly, too, he found after privately practicing when he could stand to return to the semi-corporeal form he’d manifested originally.

It was nice, Crawly thought, dumbass name aside. For what little any of them in Hell knew of Eden, they at least knew the animals could not talk. They thought Crawly, convincingly a snake in all other rights, simply could not speak. Crawly did not bother to force the messy syllables past narrowed throat and tongue and teeth to correct them.

“Go up there, serpent,” they’d said to him, kicking at the tight coil of his body where it lie motionless at their feet, “tempt, and trouble, and when you’re done, bring us news of the new world.”

So, up he went. What else would he do? Say _no_?

Crawly is not under any impression that any of what he’s doing is _Good_. There are no false pretenses, no innocence through ignorance. He just doesn’t find it particularly _Evil_ either, but they’ll call anything a sin if it suits their mood. As he twines himself through low handing branches, coming close to the ear of Eve, Crawly knows exactly what he’s doing. It is not fulfilling an assignment, it is not seeking accolades. It’s definitely _not_ sinning.

It’s barely even a temptation. Crawly doesn’t try especially hard to convince Eve one way or another. He does little more than catch her attention and let all of that excited mischief he’s been missing for so long shine in his yellowed eyes when she finally notices him. A gentle hiss, barely even words. All he says, almost unintelligible, is “You could, you know,” curling in on himself to flick his tongue towards the shining red apple, stark against the greenery. He doesn’t tell her to eat the apple. He doesn’t tell her not to, either.

It’s about giving her a _choice_. He made his. She can makes hers.

He knows that his knowledge was his downfall, and he knows that it will be hers too.

Crawly isn’t the one that decided questioning truths is worth being struck down.

//

Aziraphale sees a snake, deep black scales rippling across its back as it, graceful in a way he’s never seen before[[6]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftn6), curves through the branches of the tree that started it all. It slithers, slow but sure, down the trunk. It slips out of Aziraphale’s sight, just for a second, and returns in a lithe body, brilliant but dark wings spread behind him. Even without having all but witnessed the smooth transformation himself, Aziraphale would undoubtedly recognize the snake and the man as one and the same. From the wide yellow irises, the thin black slits cutting vertically through their centers. From the shine on his wings, same as the glint across the disappeared scales. Most of all, from the loose-limbed way he continues towards Aziraphale, where he is watching his only two charges trail across the so newly built land. He moves with a kind of confidence, an ease that makes him seem so carefree, something that would make Aziraphale feel envious, if such a thing existed yet[[7]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftn7).

Without greeting, the stranger comes to rest next to Aziraphale where he stands at the edge of the wall he was born to guard. Aziraphale, matching his suspicious new companion, says nothing.

Several minutes go by in a controversial silence. Aziraphale finds it threatening. Crawly finds it comfortable.

When it finally comes to pass, the man at his side is staring out at Adam and Eve as they journey further and further from their home-no-more, Aziraphale putting on a good show of doing the same while, in actuality, he is looking only at the unknown demon.

“That’s your sword,” he says, suddenly, the sibilance on each ‘s’ the only color to an otherwise flat comment. It’s accompanied with a half-hearted gesture, the vague wave of a pale, bony hand out at Adam, who is, in fact, wielding a sword aflame. Aziraphale expected more of an accusation, some sort of vicious judgement, anything but that simple statement with the gentlest hint of curiosity[[8]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftn8).

“Yes, well,” he sputters, indignant in his own moment of shame, brought on entirely by himself and not by the conversation at hand, “That is my sword, yes, but, it is so very cold, and she _is_ with child, you know, and there are so many beasts out there.” Aziraphale’s volume drops into a mumble, in some silly hope that She might not hear him if only he talks quietly enough, “Suppose they need it more than I do, now, don’t they?”[[9]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftn9)

Aziraphale no longer knows what to think, his deep set beliefs of the Fallen already proven to be so unfounded. What it was he thought he’s see when he gave into the urge to cast a sidelong glance at the strange man, it would never meet reality: a wide spread of lips into a grin that can be described as nothing less than joyous. In all those sharp angles, there is such a pretty softness, devoid entirely of the ugly anger and pride Aziraphale had been explicitly taught to expect [[10]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftn10).

//

Crawly felt a certain kind of calm he didn’t care to think too deeply about, next to the angel. Aziraphale, he knew, with something akin to instinct. They weren’t friends, there hadn’t really been such a thing in Heaven, least not when Crawly was there. They likely didn’t cross paths much, if at all. While Crawly was always hidden away bending light into any and every thing he imagined, Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, his fate decided from the beginning[[11]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftn11), would have been learning and practicing the art of fighting with the very same sword Crawly could see in the hands of the first human man. Their relative ages, as meaningless as they were now, meant then that they would not have even called each other “brother”. Despite those facts, Crawly knew of him. With all the fuzziness of Before, Crawly didn’t know _how_ he knew, but, he knew.

His eyes locked on Adam, waving metal and flame in the face of a lion, Crawly’s mind whirled rapidly through any number of possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. _Didn’t you have a flaming sword?_ No, no questions. _You don’t have your sword_. Too close to a question, isn’t it? _You had that sword, you did, it flamed like anything_.[[12]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftn12) Not good. None of it seemed good enough.

“That’s your sword,” does just as well, Crawly decides, oh so pleased by the angel’s righteous, embarrassed indignation[[13]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftn13). He stammers and trips his way through a hasty explanation, the corners of Crawly’s mouth pulling ever higher into an unfamiliar but not unwelcome smile. A foreign feeling bubbles up through his chest until it escapes in a soft laugh. The sound, however temporarily, interrupts Aziraphale’s anxious fidgeting. Crawly rolls his head to the side, cheek to shoulder, to really look at Aziraphale. Encouraged by Aziraphale’s gentle features and the distinct lack of fear as he meets Crawly’s serpentine eyes, Crawly finds it innocent enough and unlikely to be painfully consequential that he offers, “Crawly."[[14]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftn14)

Aziraphale, terribly distracted and not yet bound by the constraints of polite conversation, does not share his name in return, but he does smile, wonderfully bright. In moments, he is struck again by the reality of his situation and returns, much to Crawly’s disappointment, to fretting.

Crawly will not, until later, alone in some appropriately derelict but at least private corner of hell, feel the full brunt of the terror accumulating throughout the barely-a-conversation he’s having with Aziraphale. Then, Crawly will cower in a way most unbecoming of a demon and spend a few decades trying to claw his way back out of haunted memories and desperate regrets. For now, Crawly opens himself to Aziraphale’s nerves and he slides too easily back into a person he can no longer be. This will hurt later, awash with the ghost of old feelings that make his skin prickle acutely until he feels as if he might vibrate out of his corporation entirely. But, here, now, Crawly gives into the ever present urge to love and comfort and heal[[15]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftn15). With a great deal of effort he manages not to expose[[16]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftn16), Crawly tells Aziraphale in a murmur, “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

And he would know, wouldn’t he.

//

The first drops of the first rain fall over the first sinners at the exact moment of the first friendship.

Aziraphale’s stark white wing, in perfect contrast to Crawly’s pitch black, raises up to cast Crawly in precious protection.

Crawly stays silent as holy warmth touches but doesn’t burn. The screaming torrent of _why, why, why_ that has gone unmitigated since his first hallowed breath turns blessedly, blissfully, beautifully _quiet_.

* * *

[[1]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftnref1) No good could ever come from Crowley explaining the care he took in creating. He doesn’t _mind_ , exactly. At least he knows. At least someone still does.

[[2]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftnref2) Perhaps She might create one of those fun little timelines using those big markers and that thick paper they have children do to find the exact order of all the atrocities their ancestors committed against each other.

[[3]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftnref3) As you should guess: not necessarily in that order.

[[4]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftnref4) This time, yes, in that order.

[[5]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftnref5) They would forget, soon enough, that he was ever anyone’s son. By the time Crowley inhabited Earth, memories of Before were rare downstairs, but in those first years, well, they left in a slow burn.

[[6]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftnref6) Not that there had been much time to see anything else, yet. Later, though, Aziraphale will realize the creature he saw that day would remain the most beautiful for all the rest of them, too.

[[7]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftnref7) And was not one of the seven soon to-be-coined deadly sins.

[[8]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftnref8) Had Aziraphale, in this moment, indicated in any way that he believed Crowley to be _curious_ … well, this story would never have begun.

[[9]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftnref9) Crowley would, delighted as he was by this wonderful and strange angel, take great pleasure in conjuring a smoking, shimmering copy of said sword or playfully miming a fighter’s swing with wide, faux innocent eyes anytime an opportunity appropriate for teasing arose. Aziraphale, begrudgingly and secretly, would find it equally funny.

[[10]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftnref10) As previously noted, the seven deadly sins were yet to be in circulation. However, at the first board meeting after the Fall, those in charge would presume there to be devious counterparts to all of the virtues. They do that quite a lot, the presuming.

[[11]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftnref11) As everyone’s was, if you believed such a thing. Ineffability, and all that.

[[12]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftnref12) In another universe, another Crowley, a slightly different story.

[[13]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftnref13) “Blushing” had not yet entered the vernacular, but the skin on Aziraphale’s plump cheeks was an inexplicable, delicious shade of red.

[[14]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftnref14) In a few hundred years, Crowley will stand again at Aziraphale’s side, an unhappy tilt to his mouth while he watches humans do some awful thing that he will have, genuinely, taken no hand in but received credit for nonetheless. He will speak to Aziraphale, after not doing so for those hundreds of years, and say only “Crowley.” Aziraphale will understand this perfectly, and the name “Crawly” will disappear entirely from his vocabulary.

[[15]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftnref15) This will quickly show to be one of the better of his urges uniquely directed towards Aziraphale.

[[16]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624716#_ftnref16) This was not yet The Process, but it was, even untitled, a process. The Process would come after a few isolated years in literal hell, where Crowley atoned for speaking so freely on his first meeting with Aziraphale. The Process would not prevent him from ever speaking to his newfound friend again, but it would curb the fallout to a manageable level of regret.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think, and if you'd like to see more stories in this universe!
> 
> the next thing i'd work on would probably be a skip forward to after the events of the first work in the series. need me some healing from trauma!crowley and healthy coping mechanisms!crowley.
> 
> fic title from little prince by ajj, series title from i can hardly speak by bombay bicycle club


End file.
